


You Say 'Nothing' and You Know That Ain't True

by swampslip



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Bathing/Washing, Depression, Epilogue, Gay Virgin John, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nightmares, Premature Ejaculation, Sharing a Bed, both of them to be clear but john's is more uhhhh obvious, failed abigail/john, past charles/arthur - Freeform, sharing a bath lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampslip/pseuds/swampslip
Summary: There's a good foot and a half between them so it's not exactly cramped.Charles leaves his hand slightly reaching into John's side of the bed, resting on top of the covers.John looks so young, sometimes, when he's just shaved and his cheeks get ruddy, either red from sunburn or embarrassment.His hair is tucked behind his ears, making them stick out a bit, a little longer now than Charles can remember it ever being.But other than a general added layer of weariness, he looks like the John Charles remembers, holds in his mind next to, and sometimes intertwined with, his memories of Arthur."For… For helpin', both now and then, bein' kind to me and… And for Arthur," John says hoarsely, "Since he can't thank you himself. I know he'd want to."
Relationships: John Marston/Charles Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	You Say 'Nothing' and You Know That Ain't True

The house didn’t _work_ , and it’s been so tense that Charles feels like he’s wading through the mud of John’s depression in this rejected monument to a promise. 

Sometimes John just sits outside and stares at the house critically, like if he looked for long enough he could find the particular flaw in its design that made Abigail leave for the last time. 

Charles had seen the fear in John’s eyes when they watched Abigail disappearing on the horizon after she had given her excuses, patting John’s hand and smiling sadly. 

_“I’ve got some loose ends to tie up where me n’ Jack have been livin’ but… I’ll let you know. Alright?”_

And John had let her go. 

Quiet and agreeable and scared shitless. 

Charles knew she wasn’t coming back but when the letter making it final came a few weeks later he’d never felt so bad about being right. 

John had hoarsely invited him to stay as long as he wanted, that he was welcome to stick around. 

Sitting in the rocking chair by the window, something he’d bought for Abigail, staring out at the world outside. 

He hadn’t looked at Charles when he’d offered him a home, and he’d sounded just as scared, hidden under the hoarse, hesitant voice. 

Like it was inevitable that Charles was gonna leave him too. 

It was a conflicting thing, this feeling Charles had now, catching sight of John through the window, sitting outside on a stump, surrounded by piles of freshly split firewood, staring at the house. 

He wasn’t obligated to stay just ‘cause John was _sad._

It wasn’t his responsibility to make the younger man happy, or to stick around to make sure John didn’t become reckless like he had these last few years. 

But, on the other hand, every time he thought about leaving, going back to traveling and working his ass off to feed himself, staying in less-than-ideal conditions, always having to watch his back… 

He really didn't want to.

Had Abigail stuck around with Jack and been John's little picturesque family Charles would've moved on, no doubt, something awkward about a single man lingering in a family's home. 

Charles remembers when he used to idly think about a vague future with a family like that, a wife, a child of his own. 

It's been a long time since he entertained that idea. 

Charles brings the kettle over to the stove then peeks out the window again to see if John's still moping. 

He is, of course, and Charles wishes he knew what to say. 

Not even to fix the damage, but just to provide a little bit of comfort. 

\--

He wakes up with his heart racing, body moving faster than his brain can catch up to, out of bed and on his feet in a second. 

Then he hears the soft, stunted sounds of pain and blinks in the dark, shuffling around for a candle and easing open the door to the room he's claimed. 

The noises are coming from John's room, muffled cries and bitten-off whimpers. 

Charles swallows thickly and moves to John's door, knocking softly. 

There's a strangled gasp and fabric rustling then silence, but if he listens closer he hears John's heavy breathing. 

"John?" Charles calls quietly.

"Yeah?" The younger man croaks, voice raw and wet. 

Charles stares at the grain in the wood door for a few seconds. 

"You good?" 

"I'm… I'm fine."

Charles presses his lips together to fight his urge to bluntly call out that lie as he might've with Arthur. 

John isn't Arthur. 

"Can I open this so I'm not talking to a door?"

"... Yeah."

Charles turns the handle and nudges open the door. 

Seeing John sitting up in the bed, covers tangled around his legs, hair a mess, and his cheeks ruddy, tear-streaked. 

"Sorry," John says roughly, not lifting his gaze from the big empty space between him and the other edge of the bed, "If I woke you up." 

"... You did but-" Charles stops himself and frowns lightly, moving closer to the bed and holding the candle between them, "... I thought you were hurt, at first."

"No… Nah," John sighs and scrubs his palm over his face, "Really, sorry, I'll be fine they just… Happen."

"Nightmares aren't… They aren't a shameful thing," Charles says carefully, "If you want to talk." 

"There ain't much to talk about. I get sad then when I go to sleep it's like-" John swallows roughly, "S'like my mind just makes every effort to make me feel even worse."

"About something specific?"

"About… About dyin' alone, more than anythin', lately," John says and closes his eyes. 

Charles' chest tightens at the brutal reminder of Arthur's body on the cliff. 

All alone. 

Charles slowly walks closer, watching John as he sets the candle on one nightstand and sits near the foot of the bed. 

It's fairly bold of him, knowing how John must feel in this big bed, all alone, all these things they set up, always envisioning John _and_ Abigail. 

John looks up at him cautiously, eyes reddened and glassy. 

"Do you mind?" Charles gestures at the bed. 

"I- You really don't gotta entertain me bein' stupid, Charles," John whispers, "Like I said, sorry for wakin' you up."

"It might take me a while to calm down enough," Charles says slowly, "I woke up thinking I was going into a fight not…" 

John swallows and makes a small sound of acknowledgment. 

Slowly laying back on the mattress, rubbing roughly at his sternum. 

"I gotta go into town," John says quietly towards the ceiling, "If you wanna come."

"Sure."

"Just grabbin' some food, n' smokes," John mumbles, closing his eyes, "Booze." 

Charles huffs softly watching as John slowly settles into the bed, looking lax and loose. 

"You falling asleep?" 

"Mm… Kinda? Always sleep better with someone near."

"... Really?" Charles asks quietly, "Is that why these only started when we moved into different rooms?" 

"... Yeah, maybe," John whispers, "I dunno… So much of my life I spent _with_ people, only a- A couple times, bad times, when I was alone."

"You're not alone," Charles says slowly, frowning down at the quilt on the bed. 

"You gotta leave eventually-" John says and his voice is choked, "The hell's the point of stayin' here with a sad old man? You said you was leavin' and I just dragged you back into this goddamn _mess."_

"I'm older than you," Charles huffs and rubs at his face tiredly, "And you gave me a home, even if you didn't intend it to last this long." 

"I wouldn't make you leave," John whispers, "... It was nice, for a while, just you n' me… Keepin' busy." 

Charles is a bit surprised by the tone of regret in John's voice, like the younger man misses sleeping on the dirt and working 'til sundown. 

He fidgets with his hands for a moment, uncertain. 

Then slides off the bed to stand next to it. 

John opens his eyes and looks up at him. 

He looks so tired, and Charles wonders if this is why he hasn't been sleeping. 

Sometimes he's heard the soft sound of the rocking chair rocking in the dead of night. 

"Do you want me to stay here?" Charles asks hesitantly. 

_"What?_ Yeah?" John's brows furrow in confusion and he sits up a bit, "It ain't like I want you to leave or nothin' but I ain't expectin' you to stay with-"

"I mean _here,"_ Charles emphasizes with a knee on the edge of the bed, "With you."

John blinks rapidly for a few seconds, brain trying to catch up and wrap around that offer. 

"... Do- Do you mean in a way like-?"

"I mean to sleep, John."

"Uh," John whispers, "Yeah. Yes... Please." 

Charles climbs onto the bed slowly and John sits up, quickly trying to untangle the covers and pull them up. 

Charles watches the frantic tugging for a moment then huffs, reaching down and grabbing one corner of all three layers, pulling back at an angle. 

John moves his legs of the way and brings them close to his chest, just watching. 

"Here," Charles mutters, holding out the other side of the covers to John who takes it and copies him until all the layers are stretched back out and settled.

"Thanks," John whispers. 

"You just have to be smart about where you-" 

"I don't mean the sheets, Charles," John says and sniffs and Charles is surprised that when he looks at John's face the younger man is crying again. 

Crying has always made him uncomfortable. 

Seeing John, of all people, openly just… Crying, not sobbing for attention, not throwing a fit, but sitting still and quiet with tears running down his face-

Charles shifts and slowly lays back on one half of the mattress. 

Looking at the side of John's face from behind he can really see the younger man has gotten thinner, the hollows under his cheekbone and jaw deeper.

"Sorry," John says roughly, wiping at his face and sniffing harder, "I can't even stop it anymore." 

"... It's fine," Charles murmurs, taking a moment to consider his actions then reaching out and brushing his fingertips over the back of John's shoulder, the younger man inhaling sharply and tensing, "You can cry, John, I won't hold it against you." 

John makes a wobbly sound and slowly turns to lay down on his side, facing Charles. 

There's a good foot and a half between them so it's not exactly cramped. 

Charles leaves his hand slightly reaching into John's side of the bed, resting on top of the covers. 

John looks so young, sometimes, when he's just shaved and his cheeks get ruddy, either red from sunburn or embarrassment.

His hair is tucked behind his ears, making them stick out a bit, a little longer now than Charles can remember it ever being.

But other than a general added layer of weariness, he looks like the John Charles remembers, holds in his mind next to, and sometimes intertwined with, his memories of Arthur. 

"For… For helpin', both now and then, bein' kind to me and… And for Arthur," John says hoarsely, "Since he can't thank you himself. I know he'd want to." 

Charles swallows the thick feeling in his throat and rubs at his mouth lightly.

Not sure how to respond to that. 

He buried a lot of friends in that short time but Arthur’s… Arthur’s was the worst, and the hardest. 

“It’s fine, John,” Charles says, a bit hoarse himself, “We don’t have to do this.”

"I just figure… I don't know," John sighs quietly and settles down more, "Just _thank you."_

Charles nods silently, hesitating a moment then licking his thumb and pinching out the candle. 

\--

They wake up almost simultaneously, completely tangled in each other. 

John's leg is between his thighs and the younger man's arm is slung over his waist, warm and comforting heat against his back. 

The younger man tenses behind him and sharply pulls away, sitting up. 

Charles takes a moment, slowly turning onto his back to look up at John. 

"... Sorry," John mutters roughly, "I'm _sorry."_

His hair is hanging in his face and Charles can't see his expression but John's entire body is tense, like he doesn't know whether to flee or fight. 

"Morning," Charles says instead of addressing _that,_ "Did you sleep better?"

John's quiet for a long moment then very slowly nods, like that admission is physically painful.

"You should… There's a uh- A jar of salve," John says thickly, "In the bathroom, on the counter you should put some on your hands."

"My hands?" 

"They're… They're cracking, I saw last night, so just- It's there," John trails off, gesturing at the bathroom. 

"... You know I'm not mad about you holding me in your sleep, right?" Charles asks slowly, "It doesn't have to be strange." 

"I'm not tryna- It was real kind of you to offer- But I just-" 

"Calm down," Charles huffs and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. 

They're both only in their drawers and the covers are pushed down to the foot of the bed. 

"It's _fine,_ John," Charles says quietly, firmly, "We're both… Lonely. I don't mind it." 

"Are you uh-?" John whispers, "With Arthur were you-?" 

"Does that matter?" 

"No… Not really, I guess," John says hoarsely, "I… I wasn't tryna though." 

Charles snorts and wipes his eyes before stretching his arms up over his head as John crawls off the bed and moves over to the dresser.

"I figured." 

"I'm gonna start some coffee," John says weakly, rather than dwelling on that subject, pulling on a loose shirt and a pair of trousers.

Charles just hums his agreement, watching the younger man leave.

He feels strange being in John and Abigail’s would-be marital bed so he slips out and back to his own room. 

\--

John’s even quieter than he has been lately, almost shy. 

Charles has to stop himself from picking at this, knowing John, it’ll work its way out eventually. 

He’s never been a good liar. 

So Charles just keeps an eye on the younger man as they’re riding into town, just their horses, no wagon. 

“Did you wanna get anythin’ specific?” John asks, squinting up at the store signs from under the brim of his hat as they dismount.

“Just the usual, I suppose,” Charles says, then after a moment, “I’m gonna check the post office.”

“You expectin’ a love letter or somethin’?”

“Bounties, John.”

John lets out a quiet ‘oh’, hitching his horse and rubbing at his face as he walks around and up the steps, pulling out the small list, crumpled from use and age. 

It’s the same thing every time, but the list keeps him on track. 

As soon as he walks in the door he’s greeted by the clerk who launches into a spiel about their newest items including a ‘tinned, rum-soaked cake, imported’.

John’s so used to politely declining he almost does it out of habit.

Then he thinks about it. 

“How much?”

“Oh! Just a dollar a cake, sir! Fine confections, Guarman sugar and rum!” 

John just blinks for a second then gives a quiet sigh. 

“Hell, add two to my regular order,” John mutters. 

\--

Charles comes back with a poster.

John nearly forgets about the cakes as they’re riding back… Back home, quietly talking over the details. 

“Where?”

“Towards the Grizzlies, actually,” Charles says with a shrug, “Or at least that’s where they think he is.”

“Hm.”

“Do you wanna come?”

“I… I’d rather, yeah, if that’s alright,” John says quietly, watching his horse’s ears flick. 

He still hasn’t named her. 

“We could use the money,” Charles says quietly. 

“We?”

Charles’ gaze is piercing in the back of his skull but he refuses to turn around. 

“Having second thoughts about me staying?” And that gets John to turn, incredulous. 

“I just don’t wanna take your money!”

“It’d be _our_ money if you help me.”

John stutters for a moment then drops it. 

Silence lingers between them for a half-mile. 

“When did you wanna leave?”

“Clerk said no one else was interested in this guy, so… A day or two.”

\--

Then he’s set the saddlebags on the table after untacking his horse, pulling them open and getting everything out. 

Charles has gone off to another part of the property, he’s not really sure why or where, but he takes the opportunity to stash the cakes high on top of one shelf. 

\--

They’re both sitting inside on the rug in front of the fireplace, each with a glass of whiskey. 

“You tired?” John asks quietly. 

“Yeah.”

“... Do I really gotta ask this, Charles?”

“I would prefer if you did.”

“Will you share with me again?” John whispers hoarsely, “Please?”

Charles just laughs softly and stands, holding a hand down to help John up. 

\--

John wears a union suit this time so he doesn’t feel so particularly vulnerable. 

Then Charles is facing him and he might as well be bare naked when the older man raises a brow, questioning. 

“Do you wanna be held or is that too much?”

“Is that an offer?” John asks, choked. 

“Yeah, John.”

John swallows thickly and looks down between them then slowly rolls over, his back to the older man. 

Charles’ arm winds around his waist and John tenses for just a second then goes loose and liquid, leaning back against him. 

“... Good?” Charles murmurs, the side of his thumb tapping a button on John’s union suit. 

“... I dunno how to answer that.”

“I mean are you good, like this?” Charles asks and shuffles a little closer, pressing against John’s back, “Do you want this?”

“I… It feels nice, yeah,” John admits weakly, “S’been a long time.”

“We don’t have to do anything. Just sleep,” Charles says and slowly pushes on John, laying his cheek against the younger man’s back when John gives to the pressure, turning more onto his stomach. 

John presses his lips together hard and covers his face, hiding in his pillow.

\--

When John wakes up they’re equally tangled but it’s slower to untangle this time, Charles is warm and heavy against his back and it feels too _good._

John swallows roughly, trying to figure out the best way to go about not revealing his very obvious hardness. 

Charles is holding him tightly, though, and if John tries to break free it’ll be a struggle enough to wake the older man. 

“Hey, John?” Charles mumbles sleepily and John internally curses.

“... Yeah?”

“Just let it happen.”

John swallows again before making a weak sound and pressing his face into the crook of his elbow. 

Charles’ cheek is against the back of one of his shoulders and the older man gently squeezes him. 

“We’re alright,” Charles murmurs.

“I don’t wanna screw up n’ drive you away,” John whispers, “I dunno how to do this kinda thing.”

“What kinda thing?”

“The… The kinda thing between two men,” John says roughly, “If you wanna, I’m willin’ but I don’t… I don’t have a clue here.”

Charles hums quietly and his hand presses in on John’s lower belly. 

"Do _you_ wanna?" Charles asks, slow and sleepy. 

"I- Yeah-" John whispers, "Like you said the other night… We're both… Lonely." 

"We weren't particularly close before… But I'm glad it was you," Charles admits and his hand shifts, fingers slipping between the buttons to brush over the soft skin of John's belly. 

"Really?" 

"... I don't wanna talk about Arthur." 

"You can- I know I don't but it's not-" John chokes on his words when Charles slips a few buttons free and his hand is sliding down John's stomach, "I-" 

"Not now," Charles murmurs, "You alright with this?" 

"Yes," John whispers, then curls up a bit, grabbing at the pillow under his cheek, quieter, "Please." 

Charles huffs softly behind him and John gasps when the older man's fingers brush his cock. 

Quickly muffling himself with the back of his hand. 

"Shit- Charles," John whispers and the older man's fingers slide up his length to toy with foreskin and John's grateful he's laying down with the way it makes his head spin, _"Oh-"_

Charles hums quietly and keeps teasing the head of John's cock as John stares at his pillow, lips parted in shock. 

It's been years, for him, since anyone got him off, he and Abigail just grew so distant that he only felt guilty considering asking that of her when he knew she didn't enjoy it. 

"Charles," John whispers because he needs to remind himself this isn't Abigail, not even close. 

"Hm?"

John swallows roughly and squirms just a bit, squeezing the sheets under him and gasping when the older man gets him leaking pre-come with a just a few minutes of careful touching. 

"Shit," John whispers as his cheeks burn in embarrassment, "I- I don't think I'm gonna last." 

"That's fine," Charles murmurs, his grip tightening just a hair, the callouses in the crooks of his fingers rubbing over the sensitive skin beneath the head and John's hips twitch forward. 

"It is?" John asks hoarsely, confusion furrowing his brows, "I'm serious- I can't- I'm sorry-" 

Whining under his breath and turning his face more into his pillow to hide. 

Charles studies the back of John's head then slowly presses closer, his cock resting against John's ass through the fabric. 

The younger man makes a weak noise and his cock jerks in Charles' hand. 

"You can come, John," Charles murmurs, rubbing his thumb softly over the dribbling slit, "Sort of the point here." 

"But you-?" John asks breathily. 

Charles blinks then has a small moment of realization, that this might've been an issue with Abigail. 

"It'll be fine," Charles says quietly, stroking a little faster. 

John gasps and his hand flies back to squeeze Charles' thigh as his hips jerk into the touch, involuntary, rutting himself into Charles' fist. 

Charles makes a quiet noise of encouragement then feels John coming in his union suit. 

John's silent through it, his spine arching and knees bending, curling around the stimulation, his hands fretting from Charles' thigh to hip to forearm and back. 

And he keeps coming, Charles suppressing his want to comment at the thick seed coating his hand while he strokes John through it until the younger man is just panting, frozen. 

"Grab a handkerchief for me," Charles instructs softly, pulling his hand out of John's union suit. 

It takes a moment for John to move then he's jerking upright and digging through the nightstand for one. 

Turning and holding it out to Charles.

His eyes are a little wide, a little watery. 

Charles takes the cloth and wipes off his hand, studying John silently. 

"... I'm sorry," John whispers and he sounds physically pained.

"Why?" 

"I- That was… Selfish."

"... Was it?" 

John swallows loudly and looks down at his lap before quickly looking away and Charles glances down to see the absolute mess, a big wet stain over John's crotch. 

"I'm not good at this- I should've told you," John whispers. 

"I… I think you were fine?" Charles' brows furrow and he sets the handkerchief to the side, sitting up against the headboard, "I mean you didn't… I don't know if you can be _bad_ at getting off."

"I mean not bein' able to- To get you off?" John fidgets with his hands for a minute before gesturing weakly at Charles' lap, "Ain't you supposed to?" 

"... I was just assuming you'd repay the favor," Charles says slowly, "If you want to." 

_"Oh,"_ John chokes out, "I thought you- I- Shit-" 

John cups his forehead for a moment then turns so he's sitting facing the headboard, next to Charles' legs, looking down then at the older man's face. 

"You alright?" 

"Yeah," John mumbles, "What do I do?"

Charles frowns at John for a moment longer then slowly undoes his drawers, pulling his cock out into the open between them. 

John inhales a little deeper and louder and he's pretty obviously staring. 

"It's… We work the same, or close enough," Charles says and reaches out, tapping the back of John's clenched fist.

The younger man's hand relaxes in his so he slowly guides it to his cock, stopping a few inches away and settling John's hand on his upper thigh. 

"S'stupid, I know that," John whispers, "I'm bein' stupid." 

"You can be nervous." 

_"I'm not."_

"... Then what's wrong?" Charles huffs softly and shoves his hair behind his ear with his clean hand, "You were acting like I was gonna get mad at you or something… For… Oh."

"I was never good at it," John mutters but in the same moment his fingers wrap around Charles' cock, squeezing softly, getting a feel for him, "I could never make it good for her." 

"Ah- Well," Charles breathes out awkwardly as John starts stroking him lightly, then the younger man frowns and pulls his hand back, spitting into his palm and re-gripping Charles' length.

Charles makes a low sound in his throat at the eased friction, his head tilting back to rest against the headboard. 

"This is easier, I guess," John whispers, taking the time to study Charles' face with the older man not looking at him. 

Charles scoots down a bit to recline more and reaches his hand to rest on John's thigh, squeezing lightly. 

"Good?" John asks and he sounds genuinely uncertain so Charles nods, "Oh." 

"Shit," Charles murmurs and shifts his legs as John gets a little more confident, a little more intentional with how and when he's increasing and decreasing pressure. 

Squeezing just under the head and rubbing his fingertips through the pre-come that beads up. 

Stroking firm and steady and Charles opens his eyes to stare at the wooden beams above them. 

"I think you're a good feller, Charles," John admits quietly, "Really." 

"Thanks?" Charles whispers breathily as his gut clenches with need and he squeezes John's thigh, "You are as well." 

He looks down just in time to see John flustering and dropping his eyes to what he's doing and Charles' guts twist with a different, _fond_ feeling. 

One he hasn't felt so strongly in _years._

Charles lets out a breath then groans softly, reaching down with his other hand and slipping his fingers into his drawers, cupping and squeezing his balls, his expression pinching. 

"Close?" 

"Pretty," Charles whispers. 

John's hand slides to the base of his cock and hesitates there for a few seconds too many and Charles has a protest or a plea on the tip of his tongue-

Then John's leaning down and he spits softly into the space between his palm and Charles cock and the older man grits his teeth as the stroking turns slick again. 

The younger's still watching what he's doing and Charles' fingers are digging into his inner thigh, a low aching in his gut of want for more but his body won't cooperate. 

Charles breathes in sharply and his thighs tense and John watches the older man's stomach flex, then his cock jerks in John's hand. 

And Charles keeps palming his balls through it as John watches, lips parted ever so slightly in shock, watching Charles come, the older man's spend streaking up his belly and dripping over John's knuckles. 

John stops when he'd stop for himself, a few seconds after the last pulse of come, moving his hand back down to the base, squeezing then pulling back. 

Hovering his hand between them. 

Charles grunts softly as he sits up and grabs the handkerchief handing it to John and getting up off the bed. 

John stands up quickly and Charles glances at him, pausing in his path to the bathroom. 

"Uh…" John mumbles. 

"Is it alright if I use your bath?" Charles asks slowly, trying to gauge John's emotional state. 

"Yeah," John says quietly, "'Course." 

"How about we put some water on the fire?" 

John nods and looks down as he's wiping off his hands then he slips around Charles out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open behind him. 

\--

John comes into the bathroom with the last pail of steaming water and passes it off to Charles, watching the older man pour it into the free-standing tub. 

"Is it hot 'nough?" John asks quietly. 

"It's plenty hot."

"... Alright," John rubs at his arm awkwardly then steps back, "I'll leave you."

"John."

"... Yeah?"

"You could join me."

John's quiet for a while, then he shuffles forward and lightly brushes his arm against Charles'. 

"Sorry if I'm bein' strange again," John mutters. 

"Get in," Charles nods at the bath and moves to grab a few washcloths and soap. 

"You sure?"

Charles just gives him a slightly exasperated look over his shoulder and John shrinks in on himself. 

Testing the water with a couple fingers before stripping out of his union suit, wiping himself off, and stepping into the bath. 

He folds himself up smaller than Charles even knew he could, barely taking up one third of the tub.

Charles shucks his drawers and steps into the other end, sinking down. 

Passing one cloth to John. 

"I think we should talk."

"You wanna?"

"... Honestly? I'm kind of tired," Charles rolls his eyes and leans back against the tub wall, stretching his legs out to one side of John's bent ones. 

John hesitates then lowers his legs to be crossed, picking up Charles' feet and pulling them into his lap. 

Resting his palms overtop Charles' ankles. 

Looking across the couple feet between them at the older man. 

Charles quirks a brow at him and John looks back down, squeezing Charles' ankles.

"John," Charles says quietly.

"Mm?" 

"I know… I know you're having a hard time, but I'd appreciate you being honest with me right now." 

"... About?" 

"Did you enjoy that?" Charles frowns at him and John nods slowly, not looking up, "Really?" 

John huffs and shifts his legs to one side, knees knocking against the tin lining, still cradling the older man's feet in his lap. 

"I did," John mutters, "I'm bein' honest." 

"You just seemed… Anxious." 

"I was- I _am-"_ John says hoarsely, "I told you I dunno what I'm doin', I thought you were gonna fuck me I didn't even think about- That we could just- Y'know… Pull each other off." 

"You know you could _ask_ right?" 

"I was tryin' to- You said you didn't wanna talk 'bout Arthur."

"Oh," Charles rubs over his mouth lightly, then sighing softly, "Alright, ask." 

"... You loved him, right?" John whispers.

"... Yes."

"Do you still love him?" 

"He's dead, John," Charles says, keeping his voice carefully even. 

"... I know," John swallows, "Sorry, I-" 

"I'm not mad."

"I just- I mean… I guess I'm askin' if you're interested in me?" 

"... I've thought about leaving," Charles says slowly, rubbing lightly at a scar on his chest that still aches more than it should, "But every time, I realize I don't want to." 

"... But is that cause of me? Or just…"

"I don't-" Charles grimaces lightly and gestures at the bath they're sitting in, "This is a… A luxury, kind of."

Gesturing around the bathroom, picturing the blueprint of this house in his mind. 

"All of it," Charles continues, "And in some ways I like it… In others, I don't. So if I sometimes seem uncomfortable, I might be. That's not because of _you_ though." 

"I was kinda shocked you agreed to come with me," John murmurs, rubbing his fingertips over Charles' ankles, "It'd been years and I- I knew, back then, how close you n' Arthur were. I think I kinda just ignored it since me n' Arthur weren't speakin' much but I knew you n' him… I thought you'd hate me." 

"... Ah." 

"Yeah, so it was- I don't know all this is kinda a shock… Everyday I wake up and you ain't moved on is, really." 

"I was relieved, to see you," Charles mumbles, the closest to _shy_ that John's ever heard him be, "It'd been a long time of… Having no one I could trust. I buried that with Arthur and then you…"

John sucks on his teeth and shifts to rest his head on the rim of the tub. 

"... I miss him," Charles says slowly, the first time he's said that aloud. 

Admitted it, fully. 

"Yeah," John agrees hoarsely and squeezes Charles' ankles again, "I'm… I… Sometimes it seems kinda pointless, just… Tryin' and tryin' and failin'."

"What have you failed at recently?" Charles frowns lightly and when John looks at him tiredly he waves his hand dismissively, "Besides _that."_

"... I just feel like I could do better," John murmurs, "For workin'... Or around this place… For you."

"For me?"

John flusters mildly again and closes his eyes. 

"John, you can always do _better_ ," Charles says gently then continues, slightly more firm, "That's the whole point. You live, you do your best. That means trying."

"... Does this get annoyin' to you?" John asks with a small huffing laugh, "Me bein' all… Sad." 

"Annoying?" Charles' nose wrinkles slightly and he shakes his head even though John isn't looking, "No, not annoying. It's… Upsetting, in one way, frustrating, in another."

"Sorry."

"Alright," Charles sits up abruptly, pulling his legs back and reaching forward, cupping his hand over the top of John's knee, squeezing firmly, "That? That _is_ annoying. Stop apologizing just because you think you should. Or that I want you to. I don't."

John's staring at him now, sitting up straight. 

Charles' frown softens slightly when he sees that doe-eyed, held-tight body language. 

"You don't have to be scared of me… I don't know why you are."

"Used to be better at hidin' it, I guess,'' John croaks, "It ain't really _you_ , y'know? Just… I don't know, can't stop it."

"Hm." 

"Arthur hated it too, he would get mad at me when I… If I flinched or curled up a bit, he thought I was thinkin' ill of him,'' John rubs roughly at his mouth, "I just… Got better at hidin' at." 

Charles studies him then sighs softly, squeezing John's knee, his mouth pulled into a crooked frown as he looks the younger man over. 

"Can I…" John picks the washcloth up and gestures at Charles, a small circling motion, "Your back?" 

"... Why?" 

"I just wanna do somethin' for you," John says slowly. 

Charles looks at him a moment longer then slowly lifts himself up to turn, sitting down in the middle of the tub, his back to John. 

There are a _lot_ of scars, a lot more than he remembers from when Charles would shuck his shirt while chopping wood in the warmer months. 

John lathers up the cloth then starts cupping water in his palm, bringing it up to Charles' shoulders and letting it run down, until the older man's back is warm and shiny with the water. 

Then John starts carefully scrubbing in small circles, across the top of Charles' back before inching lower, taking his time and being thorough. 

In part because he likes this feeling, helping, doing something with care and attention for someone he… 

John swallows quietly and shifts forward a bit, gently brushing some of the older man's hair up and out of the way before he idly runs his fingertip over a deeper scar with his free hand. 

"Is this that… ‘Doing better’?’ Charles asks quietly. 

“Maybe,” John rubs over the top of Charles’ spine, “Maybe… I just like…”

Charles reaches behind himself and guides John’s legs so that they’re on either side of his hips, squeezing the younger man’s lower thighs, just above the scarred, knobby knees. 

John swallows thickly and runs the cloth down the length of Charles’ spine, dipping under the water then letting his hand fall away. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“Why not?”

“Charles… Please don’t play games with me,” John whispers, “I don’t know why… How any of this works. Or why you’re even… Why you want _me_.” 

“I admitted to being lonely,” Charles sighs quietly and squeezes John’s thighs again before leaning back into the younger man. 

John holds himself still and steady, Charles’ broad back warm against his chest. 

He slides his hand with the cloth around to cup the front of Charles’ belly.

“And I admitted to being glad it was you,” Charles murmurs, relaxing against John now that the younger man’s holding him, not pushing him away, “What else do you want me to admit?”

“Nothin’,” John whispers, his chin just an inch or so over Charles’ head, “Those are well ‘nough.”


End file.
